Chapter 16 #2
I moan against the feeling, curling my arms around his shoulders as I pull myself closer, until our bare chests are flush and I’m clinging to him, a deep ache growing inside me. “What are you waiting for, then?” It’s a taunt, delivered through ragged breaths.
He curses, his hands working furiously with the belt and fasteners on my jeans, lifting me off the counter with one arm around my back while yanking my pants and panties over my hips with his free hand, until they’re sliding down my legs and off, taking my socks along.
Every last article of clothing I wore coming in here tonight is strewn over Logan’s apartment as he pauses long enough for his gaze to scan my bare skin. Then he’s shoving his own jeans and briefs down, hooking his arms under my thighs, and lining himself up.
“Whoa, wait.”
His jaw clenches as he holds back.
“I’m not on the pill. It messes with my hormones, gives me migraines, and I’ve been single so long …” I let my words drift. They’re not exactly sexy.
“That, I can fix.” He lifts me off the counter, stealing kisses as he carries me the few feet to his bed to lie me down properly. Kicking off his jeans the rest of the way, he retrieves a box of condoms from the nightstand drawer and tears it open.
My eyebrows pop. “You’re prepared.”
“This place came fully stocked.” He tears the foil wrapper open with his teeth.
It dawns on me. “Annie bought you condoms?”
“Can we please not talk about my mother while I have my dick in my hand?” he scolds, rolling the condom onto his rigid length.
“Fair enough.” I admire the view of his hardened and honed body, my anticipation overwhelming me.
Kneeling between my legs, Logan repositions himself, settling his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush me. “Where were we,” he whispers, pushing into me, his kiss more intense, less frantic, as if he’s no longer in a race against my common sense kicking in.
I busy my hands in Logan’s hair, my fingers weaving through the thick strands, and I cry out as my body accepts him—all of him, his past, his flaws, and the pain he caused me—stretching to welcome him home.
Logan groans, his forehead pressing against mine as he pushes deeper. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last, Em. I can’t last with you. Not after this long.”
“It’s okay. We have all night,” I promise him.
His eyes flash with understanding.
We gasp together as he pushes in deeper, our bodies rocking rhythmically, my hands roaming the web of muscle spanning his back as it flexes with forceful yet gentle movements.
His mouth moves from my lips to my jawline, to my neck, settling there as his thrusts grow stronger, wilder. He wasn’t lying. I sense him about to lose control.
I reach down between us in an attempt to coax my own response forward.
Logan follows the move, his head bowed to watch.
He comes in a rush a moment later, pulsing inside me as his deep cries vibrate through my body.
“Told you,” he mutters between pants. I pull his face to me, our lips finding each other again.
He kisses me before peeling back, his eyes raking over my features, the thoughts behind them indecipherable.
“I can’t read you anymore,” I admit, smoothing my palm over his jaw. “What are you thinking?”
His lips part, but he stalls, and I sense whatever he was going to say slipping away. “Let me do that for you.”
“Do what?”
The muscles in his shoulders cord as he shifts his sculpted body down. His mouth finds my breasts, my ribs, my stomach, the stretch marks that motherhood gifted me, before landing between my legs.
A primal moan escapes me.
Logan’s bare chest rises and falls rhythmically. He looks so peaceful lying next to me, draped in a tangle of bedding, the dim morning light peeking through the cracks of the curtain.
Is this real?
Am I actually lying in bed next to Logan again after all these years?
Of course it is. The four empty foil wrappers and used contents wadded in tissue lay scattered on the nightstand as glaring proof of the night we had together.
But the question is followed quickly by a panicked one: How could I let this happen?
Last night, Logan’s history didn’t matter to me. Only our history, and the boy I used to know, mattered. There was nothing I wanted more than to be close to him again.
But I’m a detachment commander for a police force, and I slept with a man on parole for his part in killing two police officers. It doesn’t matter that I know the truth, that Logan isn’t the criminal he’s painted out to be.
None of that will matter to my superiors, my subordinates, or to the community I serve. My reputation will be destroyed all the same, and then it will only be a matter of time before I’m forced out of my position. The life I’ve built for myself will come crashing down.
Oh, God …
My anxiety swells as I watch this man’s slow, shallow breaths. For the second time, Logan has the power to destroy me.
With careful movements so as not to disturb him, I slip from the bed, aiming for my scattered clothes. The apartment is drafty and cold—nothing but a glow of embers in the woodstove and the faint hint of smoke in the air—but I barely feel it.
I’m sliding my blouse over my head when my morning alarm blares.
“Shit,” I hiss, darting for my rumpled jeans to dig out my phone and shut it off, my pulse racing in my ears.
With a calming exhale, I hazard a glance toward the bed.
Logan’s watching me. “Busted,” he croaks, his voice especially raspy.
“Sorry.”
“What time is it?”
“Six thirty a.m. I’ve gotta let Duke out and get down to North Bay. Isla’s got a game this morning,” I mumble, tugging on my pants. It doesn’t start for several hours. I still have plenty of time.
But I can’t stay here.
He smooths his palms over his face. “Yeah, she asked me to clean Biscuit’s stall.”
I falter. “When did you talk to her?”
“Yesterday, in the barn. I see her there every morning.”
I can’t help my frown. Obviously, I know Isla goes to the barn to clean the horse’s stall. I didn’t realize Logan was there when she does. She hasn’t mentioned it.
“Give me a sec and I’ll walk you out.” Logan shoves aside the sheets and stands.
I avert my gaze as he strolls across the apartment to the bathroom, but not before getting an eyeful of every part of him that I had last night. “No need. I can find my way.” Where are my damn socks!
I’m still scouring the floor when Logan emerges. “Come on, Em. Don’t be like that.”
“Like what, Logan?” Like I just fucked my convict childhood crush the first moment I had a few drinks and the chance? From the corner of my eyes, I watch him tug on his briefs and jeans as I wait for his answer.
“You coming to dinner?” he asks instead. “For Thanksgiving.”
Right. That’s tomorrow. I still owe Annie an answer.
“I … I don’t know. Dillon mentioned wanting Isla there.
His parents want to see her.” Lie. “And we’re still short-staffed.
” True, but there’s coverage and they don’t need me so …
lie. Giving up on my socks, I shove my bare feet into my borrowed boots.
“I’ll let Annie know by this afternoon.” When I’m far enough away from Logan to think straight, because clearly I can’t do that when I’m in the same room as him, and especially not when he’s shirtless.
“See you around.” I aim for the door.
Logan grabs his T-shirt and follows me down the steps in a rush.
“Em! Stop.” He adds a softer “Please” that I can’t ignore.
My feet slow, even as my chest feels like it’s going to cave in.
“Last night was … fuck,” his voice trails.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I remember his hands and mouth on me again.
I know what he means and yet I feel no relief.
“It was a huge mistake. A weak moment. It can’t happen again.
It can never happen again.” I peer over my shoulder to meet his gaze.
“There is no going back, Logan. Ever. No matter how much either of us might want it. You know that.”
His jaw clenches. It’s not what he wanted to hear.
“You’re a convicted criminal with a record that will ruin my life. Is that what you’re trying to do?”
“Of course not.” He appears taken aback. “How can you even ask me that?”
The garage side door swings open then and in walks Jon.